Grounds of Weakness
by Lucid Obscurity
Summary: A young half-Blood female sees the destruction the frequent raids on the landen villages cause. Not sure what to do to save her village, she seeks the aid of the Queen of the Darkness.
1. Corrupt Destruction

I don't own any part of Anne Bishops wonderful universe. 

Arrin wandered through the decimated landen village that had once been her home. Although she had been half-Blood, her psychic strength preventing her from ever fitting in, there was still a sentimental connection to the once beautiful town. 

Now, the remnants of houses lay scattered amongst the street and other debris. Rubble was piled skywards in towering piles, charred and splintered. Blood was splattered everywhere, cloaking the rubble in it's crimson folds. The once beautiful, clear spring that was near her childhood house was still there. Except for the fact that all the vegetation and charming wildflowers that had grown around it were shredded or demolished. It's once beautiful sparkling translucent waters were now a horrendous shade of crimson. The colour of blood. The colour of death. Children had once played around it in the lush vegetation that had surrounded the spring, drinking it's sweet, crystal waters. Arrin carefully approached the spring. 

A child's body lay impaled on a sharp rock, her eyes that had been once youthful and full or curiosity, now dead and staring unseeingly at the sky. Blood was _everywhere, _draining into the clear water, turning it into a bloody mixture no child would drink from ever again. Arrin screamed, stumbling away from the spring. Screaming, she collapsed to her knees, retched and was violently ill, as her body couldn't handle the ghastly scene. She hadn't known the child whose ghost would haunt the spring, but she still felt a seething rage for what had been done to her. Mother Night! Even the innocent children were not spared. 

Blinded by tears, Arrin wove her way through the fallen timbers, weaving through the debris towards a house that was still partially standing. Underneath one of the bloodstained piles of rubble, she thought she glimpsed a bloodied arm and hand, and had to look away immediately. She couldn't bear to think of what had been done to them, especially the women and children. 

She checked the house for any survivors, though she knew deep down to her core that none survived the massacre that occurred here. A bloodstained object lying on a shattered tablecaught her eye. Curious, she retrieved it carefully. It was a small, battered, bloodstained book. A diary. Gingerly, she opened the book, careful of the blood which soaked most of the pages. A page with spidery handwriting caught her eye. Half the paper was splattered in blood, but it was still readable. Except for the names of the owner of the book. The blood splattered on the paper had damaged the writing far too much, making it illegible, even to the brightest scholar. 

Intrigued, but saddened by the fate of the unknown author, she began to read. 

"_We are the landens. The Blood, the so-called superiors of our world sneer at us, look down at us. They have no respect for us. They have no sympathy. They come into our villages and destroy. They raid us, looking through our meaningless possessions while we stand watching, helpless to stop them. What they expect to find, I do not know. They rape our women and young girls. They have raped the land of all that was once pure and untainted and uncorrupted by the corrosive taste of power._

_We have no defence against the Blood. We cannot match them in power or strength. They have the protection of their so-called Darkness. They can defend their oh-so-fragile minds with their tainted power sources known as Jewels. We cannot. To fight one of the Blood is to choose death, for no one can save you once that blast of power soars at you, obliterating all in it's path. Obliterating your mind and all sense of self you may have once had, leaving you to die, empty and cold. _

_Many of our young men and older experienced warriors tried to stand against some of the Blood that raided us today. Our people stood in the streets to try to defend our village, much to the dismay of all those men's wives and families. They thought of all the lives that would be wasted when the Blood tore through our village. They knew of the terrible bloodshed that would take place, and how most of the blood spilt would be theirs. They knew how the chances of stopping them was minuscule, too small to even matter. They knew that the chances of them even surviving long enough to witness the horrors and obscenities done to their families, to their wives, to all women and children, were even smaller. They knew. . . and yet they stood there, as the last defence of our village._

_They laughed. Looked at each other and laughed as they blew a young man apart. Laughed as they tore the lives away from so many people with their obscene, tainted Jewels. So many friends and family lost their lives that day, mercilessly slaughtered. The worst are the Eyriens. The winged scourge that have explosive tempers and dangerous skills with deadly weapons. There is nothing we can do. Blood stains our soil. The blood of those who once bravely fought to save our village, to protect our people. The blood of our last defence, of our last hope."_

Arrin felt tears leaking from her eyes, falling down her cheeks in a cascade of pain, grief and sorrow. A river of feelings flowed with those tears, leaving a tired vessel they had resided in. If only she knew who had written that entry which had so accurately portrayed the landen life. If only she knew who the diary belonged to. If only. . . 

That was it! Although she was half-Blood, she still knew a bit of basic magic. Oh, not the lifeblood of the Blood, which they called Craft, but enough to do what was needed. 

Focusing carefully, Arrin drew her power through her and into the book. The blood slowly faded, dissolving, the name on the front of the cover once smeared and illegible due to the massive damage caused by the bloodstains slowly took shape, formed and was whole and clear. 

Exhausted, Arrin sat back on a splintered piece of rock. She blinked to clear her eyes. Gingerly, she looked at the name on the cover of the now undamaged book. The name stood bold and true, in the same spidery handwriting. 

No! NO! Tears pricked her eyes, threatening to spill, flowing their way down stained cheeks. 

"Oh cousin, we had wondered where you had disappeared to. Why did you have to go back to Askavi? Why couldn't you have stayed in Dena Nehele, where it was safe? Why did you have to be _here?_" Arrin sat on the splintered rock, weeping silently for the loss of a great mind, landen as it was. The loss of a kindred spirit. 

She had heard of an extraordinary Lady, a powerful Queen and Healer. It had been too late to save her home village, but maybe it wasn't too late to save the others. Maybe she would help them. Making up her mind in a confident decision, spoiled only by the tiny seed of doubt implanted in her mind, Arrin carefully tucked the diary into the pocket of her now torn and bloodied dress. She would go the great Lady, the most powerful Queen in the history of the Realms. She had heard from another landen village in Agio, not far from here that she was as kind as she was powerful. 

Apparently, she had saved them fro a Jhinka raid. Mother Night! She had destroyed 6,000 Jhinka in thirty seconds! Her cousin, Adler had been there. He had sent a letter, filled with rage, pain, grief and awe about the events that had happened those few terror filled days. Apparently, they had almost not made it out of the raid alive. Hell's fire! She had healed 300 people in three days! 300! How much power did she wield. . . Maybe enough. . . 

She would see her. She would go Ebon Askavi in Kaeleer, go to the Dark Court and request an audience with her, the Queen. If she was the woman Adler had portrayed her as, she would help. She had to. Jhinka numbers were rising everyday. They would destroy every landen village in Askavi! Although they weren't Blood, they were still dangerous and were considered a threat that needed to be dealt with. With one last prayer for the poor souls lost in the terrible, tragic slaughter, she set her face in an expression of grim resolution and left the village that had once been her home, had once offered peace and shelter, and the poor lives that were lost there. She had turned her back on a ghost town, it's residents left to forever walk to bloodied fields where they lay. As a fleeting figure was seen heading towards the horizon, the sun set on the destroyed village, highlighting the scarlet soil. The only testament to the lives lost and the slaughter that had taken place that day. The only reminder. 

I've always wondered what it would be like to view the world from the landen point of view. . . This may not be completely right. . . But review and tell me what you think. :) 


	2. A Sea of Faces

Since some readers seem to be rather confused about this fic and just exactly what is taking place, I will make a few notations dedicated to all those confused people out there. 

First of all, the raid on her home village happened in Terreille. Since there are two territories named Askavi, I am assuming that Lucivar did not grow up in the Kaeleer Askavi, therefore he must have been in Terreille. Also, there are Jhinka in Terreille's Askavi, as the favourite taunt, "Your father is a Jhinka" comes into play in the Eyrien hunting camps. 

Also, Arrin received a message from her cousin in Kaeleer's Askavi, in Agio, thus proving to her that there must be a way to get into the Dark Realm, convincing her that there has to be a way to get to the powerful Lady that helped her cousin in Agio. 

Finally, the Blood has destroyed Arrin's home village. But the Blood are still out there, taking advantage of the landens and Arrin wants to put a stop to it, not to mention the risk of a Jhinka attack are climbing higher and higher every day. 

Okay, I think that covers most of it. . . Thank you for reading my fics and reviewing. If you have anymore questions, don't be afraid to ask. :) 

Continuing onwards. . . 

"Excuse me Lord, but can you please tell me where the gate to get to Kaeleer is?" Arrin asked a Warlord that was passing by. She was unfamiliar with how to address the Blood, praying he was a Warlord and not a Warlord Prince that would take offence to her inferior greeting. That was the disadvantage of being a half-Blood. It made it difficult to tell the rank of the Blood, though not impossible. If anything, Arrin hadn't had enough contact to fully comprehend the distinct feel of each rank. She gazed at the man she had questioned. 

He was an older man; the lines that had appeared only due to stress and as evidence of a hard life, stood out on his weathered face. His eyes raked over her, looking her up and down in a way that was only insulting and his mouth shifted into a sneer. 

"What of it? Do you think the Blood in Kaeleer would accept a half-Blood like you? Go home, back to your village and don't bother coming back. The Darkness knows that you don't even have a chance." Giving her another scathing look, the Warlord swaggered off to be lost in the crowd blocking the streets. 

Arrin sighed. Either she was completely ignored or a similar response as given. Adler was right. The Blood didn't like to mingle with half-Bloods or anyone they considered inferior. She would have to find it herself. 

Silently, Arrin wandered over to a small side street, where she sat down on a small, roughly cut bench. She sighed. Getting into Kaeleer was a lot harder than it appeared. She had heard stories about Gates; the portals that allowed one to pass through the different Realms. She didn't know if she would be strong enough to pass through the Darkness unscathed, and the thought of what could happen terrified her, but the reward was worth the trip ten times over. Still, it didn't quite reassure the slow feeling of sinking that was building in her stomach. She had heard stories of landens who tired to leave Terreille and seek better fortune in Kaeleer. None were ever heard from again and Arrin had a feeling that it wasn't because they made it and lived a happy life. No, according to the tales, none were successful. They were crushed by the psychic waves that your own psychic power was supposed to balance out, or lost in the Darkness. But in order to not be crushed, you had to have a reservoir of psychic strength, which took the form of a Jewel. The darker the Jewel, the stronger the power. Unfortunately, landen's didn't have that advantage, nor did they posses _any _power whatsoever. Therefore, there was nothing to protect them from the raging fury that was the emptiness between the Gates. If anyone noticed a fair woman with light brown hair and soft brown eyes that grew steadily paler, they said and did nothing. 

Arrin looked up to see an old woman with white hair and a kind face shuffling slowly up the street. She was hunched with age, though her posture did nothing to diminish a kind of regal flair. The crowd, if they noticed a small elderly Lady making her way slowly towards them made no allowance for her passage, nor did they offer to help in any way. Somehow that irked Arrin and she felt a wave of pity for the old woman. They were slightly alike; invisible to the rest of the world. 

"Lady! Please have a seat," Arrin called out to her. The woman turned slightly and painstakingly made her way over to the bench. Arrin stood up, giving the woman room to make herself as comfortable as she could, given the fact that they were sitting on an old bench with slight splinters. 

"May the Darkness embrace you, dear one," the woman said. Her voice was sweet and didn't tremble one bit with age and Arrin detected that regal flash in her once again. 

Arrin smiled slightly and nodded, not sure how to return a saying of the Blood. 

"Why is such a pretty young lady wandering around such a place that is Terreille?" the old woman asked Arrin gently and Arrin suddenly experienced a flash of pain at the memories of her own grandmother. 

Stifling her churning emotions, Arrin replied weakly, "I'm- I'm searching for the Gate to Kaeleer. I don't know where I am though or how to get there! I'm either completely ignored or appraised like some- some _whore!_" 

"Ah, I see. Well, good luck to you." The old woman leaned back on the bench and sighed gratefully, glad the pressure had been taken off her aching knees. 

"If you want to get to the Gate, you follow that road until it reaches the end. There is the immigration building. Fill out the forms and you should be able to pass through the Gate if not today, then tomorrow." The old woman spoke with her eyes closed. 

"Thank you. Thank you so much!" Arrin could hardly keep the excitement out of her voice. She knew where to go! But something nagged at her. . . 

"But wait. Can a half-Blood like me get through the Gate? Wouldn't we be denied access?" A tremble filled with worry managed to work it's way into her voice. 

"Can you do any sort of Craft? Not any of the things that require a Jewel, but just some basics?" the old woman asked, focusing brilliant blue eyes on her. 

"Well. . .yes. . .but that's besides the point!" 

"It _is _the point! It means that the Darkness recognizes you as one of it's own, like it recognizes the Blood and will allow you through. Good luck, dear one." The old woman leaned back and once again closed her eyes. 

"Why are you doing this? Why help me, a half-Blood when all the others have ignored me?" Arrin asked, grateful yet wary. There was something in this woman's eyes that was not the least bit gentle. . .rather sharp and intense. Not something usually found in a sweet old granny figure. The Blood didn't help half-Bloods or landens. Why was this one? What was the exception to the general attitude? 

"Because, dear one, I wear the White and barely that. My family was amazed I was even able to do even the simplest Craft, not to mention wear the Jewels. I know how you feel and vowed I would help those that needed it. And you seem to need help, so I give it to you freely and willingly. May the Darkness embrace you and good luck. May you find whatever you are searching for." 

Sensing the dismissal, Arrin ran up the street, jostling through the crowd to reach her destination. She knew she'd always be eternally grateful of the old woman who understood the landen and half-Blood life. 

Once the fleeting back of the young half-Blood female was out of sight, the old woman who had helped her sat on the bench, her eyes closed. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and smiled a sweet, gentle smile as she reached inside of her coat and brought out a silver chain. The Sapphire Jewel flared briefly, just for a moment and was looked at lovingly, before being returned to the safety of under her shirt. 

The Sapphire Jewelled Queen and Black Widow smiled to herself. May the Darkness embrace the young girl. . .she would need every drop of luck she could get. But she would succeed, oh yes. The girl had too much potential to fail. She was almost certain the child would find what she was looking for. 

Silently, she rose from the bench and stepped into the crowd. . .leaving behind a splintered bench and a memory of an old White-Jeweled old woman who understood a young woman's needs. With a final look, she disappeared from sight, lost in the sea of faces. 


End file.
